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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 9 months ago

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supermarket run-ins (the start of something new)

summary: nathan mackinnon x f!reader // the supermarket meeting...eventually they'll get married (from this)

warnings: nate being adorably awkward

word count: 3.2k

< i'm gonna link this to a series called 'funny how life works out' (in the works) on my main masterlist and if there's anything you want to see from this universe, please shoot me an ask, my requests are open! >

Nate knew there was always going to be a risk of running into someone he went to school with when he came back to Cole Harbour: the place was pretty small, and nearly every time he’d gone out he’d see a familiar face hiding around the corner, but he wasn’t sure if he could take another awkward conversation, least of all when he was grocery shopping.

It was early May, and the second round loss in the playoffs against the Sharks was still a remarkably sore ache, and the last thing he wanted was for someone to offer their condolences for it: he knew people meant well, but sometimes it did just rub salt in the wound – and for that reason, he decided the best course of action was to do his grocery shopping a little way out of town and at the strangest time possible, i.e. seven A.M on a Thursday morning, because who the fuck else would be insane enough to go grocery shopping that early in the morning?

Or, at least, that was part of his strategy. The other part involved wearing his sweatpants and zip up (it was chilly that early in the morning) and a baseball cap inside to make himself seem as glum and as unapproachable as possible. He wasn’t necessarily trying to hide his identity – it never worked with a baseball cap in those superhero movies – nor did he actually believe that people in Halifax would genuinely care who he was, because he wasn’t the only person to have made it to the NHL in these parts, and he certainly wasn’t the most famous, either. In fact, people were more blase about it than not.

Still, that didn’t stop him from keeping his head down when he walked through the doors as soon as the store opened, nor did it stop him from keeping his eyes on the floor as he navigated his way through the aisles, listening rather closely to the faint music playing over the intercom as he picked up a basket and made his way for the fresh fruit and veg aisle.

Despite having only been back home for a few days, he already had plans, and those plans consisted largely of cooking, eating, working out, and then walking the short distance from his house to Sid’s so they could mourn the devastating loss of their Stanley Cup for this year. Though, Nate did feel as though he had more of a reason to mourn this time: Sid had won it three times already, and this season the Penguins didn’t even make it to play-off contention, whereas the Avs had. Second round. Still bitter. And Nate had yet to get his hands on Lord Stanley.

Even the mere thought of it made his jaw clench. He wondered what he must look like to an onlooker: murderous glares at the carrots usually weren’t a good sign for anyone. In fact, even that thought had him swiping a bag of carrots and looking both ways down the aisle as a precaution, as though he was guilty of doing something – yet, as far as he was aware, the only thing he was guilty of was being this miserable sore loser at seven-ten in the morning.

He reckoned that was a new personal record – he could usually hold it off until half past the hour, but it seemed the early morning pining had gotten to him exceptionally early.

He took a step to the right, reaching for the bag of lettuce, when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Usually he wouldn’t have bothered looking: he was in a supermarket, and people were expected to walk through pretty often, but he’d been the only person sad and mad enough to wait outside the doors until they opened up, and he knew for a fact that no one else had followed him in immediately after.

Only, when he turned his attention to the end of the aisle, he saw someone. A woman. She was walking down towards the back of the store, the aisle directly in line with his. He didn’t know if she’d seen him, but she had headphones on and was wearing athletic gear: shorts, trainers, a long-sleeved top under a short-sleeved one. Nate knew that because he recognised the logo on her shoulder and he had one of his own, only it a different colour, and it was much bigger.

He blinked, turning back to his own list.

He didn’t make it through another five seconds before giving in and looking back at her. He couldn’t quite shake the air of familiarity she encompassed. Even though he hadn’t seen her face, there was something undoubtedly recognisable in the way she moved and stood.

He’d seen that woman before. Knew her, even. He didn’t know who she was, but he knew that much. He just had a feeling, the kind that settles so delicately in your bones and has your heart pounding just that little bit faster – he couldn’t quite ignore it.

Still, he continued on with the rest of his shopping, even going so far as to treat himself with some cake mix (that he was probably going to just bake and give to his parents, because he’d have one slice and get bored and before he’d know it, he’d have to throw the entire thing away because it’d gone stale), and it was as he was making his way back up to the tills, walking straight through the ready meals aisle, that he saw her again.

She was standing in front of the refrigerated section, her basket on the floor as she held two boxes in her hands, seemingly undecided on something. A small part of him hoped that she’d see someone coming and look at them (him, really), so he could deduce who she was. In fact, a large part of him wanted that. It was all he wanted at that moment. He wasn’t sure if he could leave the supermarket without figuring it out before he left – and he immediately shut that thought down because he sounded like an absolute creep.

He kept his steps mildly loud and purposeful, not moving too fast or too slow to rouse suspicion, and he kept to the centre of the aisle. At some point his hands seemed to have made the decision to take his cap off his head, because when he briefly looked down at his basket it was sitting on top of the cat food (probably for the better, because it’d be weird if he ended up saying he didn’t actually own a cat even though he had cat food – that was guessing he’d even end up saying something anyway: it was all rather a large question mark in that sense), and he ran an anxious hand through his hair, fluffing it up from where it had been squashed, before looking up.

The woman reached down, dropping a box into her basket, the other one nestled safely back on the shelf, and whether he’d timed the entire thing impeccably well, or whether she’d actually seen him, she looked up. Right at him. And, before he could even do anything consciously, his legs had slowed to a stop.

He was right. He definitely knew her. In fact, the very woman standing in front of him was the exact same one he’d had a crush on in school from the age of ten to…well, he wasn’t quite sure when it stopped because he left shortly after that, but now she was standing in front of him, smiling politely, and Nate instantly felt like a giddy ten-year old again.

It was you.

You, who upon seeing he’d stopped in his utterly bewitched stupor, had taken the headphones off from over your ears and had turned to face him.

All because he stopped in his tracks.

“Hi.” You said, picking up your basket on the floor and regarding him with some sense of confusion.

He blinked, his mouth falling open dumbly, the words sitting right there on the top of his tongue, but he seemed suddenly incapable of even stringing anything together.

He shut his mouth almost immediately after that realisation, and the flush in his cheeks almost seemed inevitable — as did your curious quirk of an eyebrow, because even the people that didn’t know him well knew it was never a good sign for someone who was so used to being in the public eye, to stutter and make a fool of themselves simply trying to have a polite conversation.

“Is everything okay?”

He didn’t know it was possible to blush even harder, but he felt it tingle in his toes and the tips of his ears.

“Sorry, I—” he cleared his throat, heart hammering in his chest like there was no tomorrow, “You just took me by surprise, I guess. Haven’t seen you in years.” He managed, tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth. He’d never struggled so much before, but old habits do die hard and he’d never been completely normal talking to you when he was ten.

A look of pleasant surprise crossed your features, and only then did it occur to him that it might be weird of him to say something like that, because you two hadn’t really known each other at all. A few weeks sitting at the same table didn’t exactly constitute the kind of friendship that’d be so profound you’d shock him.

“Would that surprise also have something to do with the fact that we’re apparently the only two people with the thought to go shopping at this time?” You ignored the latter half of his bumbling ramble, probably for the better, and instead seemed to find some relief in the fact that he had regained his ability to talk.

He didn’t quite know which was worse.

Nevertheless, he stuck on a smile and tugged awkwardly at his earlobe for a moment, “It might, yeah.”

You hummed, rocking back on your heels with the faint trace of an amused smile on your face.

It was only then that he noticed the old, slightly worn in Halifax Mooseheads logo printed squarely on the front of your t-shirt, and he very quickly averted his eyes — only the more he seemed to look at your face, the more obvious it became that you were every bit still as beautiful as you had been to his ten year old self, if not more.

“So, where are you, how are you these days?” He asked, once again the words tumbling straight from his mouth with little thought, but you seemed to appreciate the question, if he read the look on your face correctly.

“I went to college in Montreal, and I’m still there. I work for a law firm as a legal translator…And I guess I’m doing well.” You shrugged, “What about you?”

Nathan swallowed nervously, the crushing weight of the loss almost crashing into him full force, and he knew he froze for a good couple of seconds, trying to get his head back into the present moment. He didn’t know if you could tell just where his mind had gone, or if you were just that patient, but you didn’t say anything or do anything to indicate his lack of immediate response.

“I’m good, yeah. I mean, I’m still reeling from the play-off loss, but it’s nice to come home and recharge.” He inhaled, “But other than that, Denver’s treating me well.”

“That’s good.”

“As good as it can get to say I got absolutely no choice as to where I had to live when I was eighteen? I’d say so, yeah.” He agreed, feeling himself ease up a little.

He couldn’t get his mind to quieten, and he felt jittery; he didn’t know what to do with his hands and he knew all of that would be solved if he just stopped thinking so hard about a simple conversation, but all he could think about was his poor younger self, who, upon finding out he had to move to Minnesota, did wonder what happened to you.

If his younger self could see him now…

You laughed softly at his sarcasm, and he felt the clouds part for a moment – a laugh meant he wasn’t completely making a fool of himself.

“What are you doing here now anyway?” You asked, wandering across the aisle, your basket still on the floor, and he watched, one hand stuffed in his hoodie pocket, as you picked some cheese off the shelf and made your way back to the basket.

“I’m restocking my fridge and avoiding any possible run-ins with people–well, with people I went to school with, actually.”

You just grinned, and for some reason he had an idea of what your next words would be before you even said them, “How’s that working out for you?”

Nate shrugged lamely, “There are worse people to run into.”

And from the comical look on your face Nate had an awful feeling that you knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Is that why you’re here too?” He continued, acutely aware of the fact that you were mid-shopping trip, and he knew for a fact that even if he did want to keep standing there and chatting to you for a little while longer, he couldn’t. Not really. Still, it hadn’t been quite long enough yet to end it now.

If he did, he knew he’d regret it if it was the last time he’d ever see you again for the rest of his life.

You shrugged, showing no signs of his presence or conversation either dulling or pissing you off, and answered without hesitation, your basket now in your arms again, “Yeah, but I’m also busy for the rest of the day so I couldn’t go at any other time.”

“Oh, anything nice planned?”

“It’s my Dad’s birthday, so there’s some family coming over and then we’re all going out for dinner.” There was a pause, and for a brief second Nathan felt himself get hot with panic at the mere thought of that brief pause turning into an awkward silence, but you spoke again, and his heart rate dwindled and his body temperature lowered with the help from the fridges, “You got any plans for today?”

Nate felt himself begin to nod before he could spew the words out, “Yeah.” He said, “I’m seeing Sid tonight.” It was only after he finished talking and had the chance to double-check that he hadn’t said anything wrong accidentally, that he realised that you might not know who Sid is.

He had no clue if you even liked hockey. In fact, he knew little to nothing about you apart from that fact that you were clever, played soccer quite violently from what he’d heard from some of his friends, and that you went to college in Montreal, and both lived and worked there now. And it was your Dad’s birthday today.

In fact, now that he thought about it, you hadn’t actually given him any indication that you knew who he was. You’d not said his name, how would he know you weren’t faking it to be polite?

He didn’t voice any of that, though. If he did, it wouldn't matter if you knew who he was or not, because the second he voiced exactly what was running through his head, this entire thing would turn into a car crash.

“Kind of crazy how that works out, huh?” You asked rhetorically, and Nate raised a brow, waiting for you to elaborate, “I remember you talking about him in class, and now…”

Nate grinned, only just resisting the urge to sigh in relief, and all at once his mind seemed to clear. It quietened; he could think properly now. All because you remembered him.

He felt a little bit pathetic, actually, at how easy it was for him to physically brighten because of one vague thing from fourteen or so years ago (fourteen!), that he probably told everyone who would listen – but he had a strong visual in his mind, then, of everyone else on that school table tuning out his Crosby-rambling, and you were the only one listening. He remembered you’d ask him questions, and…you liked hockey, he remembered that now.

It was funny how a moment so insignificant in the past could feel like a tectonic plate shifting under his feet.

“Oh, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. God, he really did chat hockey a lot, didn’t he? “And they say don’t meet your idol.”

You fucking remembered him!

You breathed a laugh, and Nate felt something in his chest splinter at the sound, only when he seemed to really look at you next, you shivered, teeth pressed together and shoulders trembling. He didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it before, considering you were standing in a cold aisle with shorts on, and him with full length sweatpants and a hoodie, but it was freezing. Really cold, and the guilt that came with that observation had him immediately stepping away slightly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should let you get back to your shopping.” He rambled nervously.

“It’s okay, I’m not really in a rush.”

What was he supposed to say to that? What did it mean? Was it an invitation to stay longer? To keep chatting? He had no fucking clue, and he was sure the chaos of his thoughts was unfortunately also mirrored on his face judging from the way you were now looking at him (or was he overthinking that, too?); yet, the only thing that came out of his mouth was: “It was nice catching up with you–”

“I have three days left before I go back to Montreal.” You interrupted, and Nate blinked.

He blinked again. His heart was in his throat. What–Oh.

“Do you maybe want to get drinks before you go?” He asked, heart pounding so very painfully against his ribs. He didn’t know why asking that question was so nerve-racking, especially considering you’d half fone the job for him anyway, but there was something tugging at him that had his hands trembling slightly as he put his number in your phone. He looked over to see you doing the same on his phone, and though your fingers were shaking too he couldn’t say for certain if it was because of the cold or your own nerves.

“Tell your Dad happy birthday from me.” He muttered once he’d repocketed his phone and managed to make eye contact with you without a) smiling too hard and looking like a crazy person, or b) looking like he was constipated.

“I will.” You promised, “Have fun tonight, too.”

“I’ll try.” He managed a normal smile, “See you later.”

“See you.”

And he spent the entire walk back to his car trying not to scream out of excitement. He’d never been so giddy for later.

#nathan mackinnon oneshot #nathan mackinnon imagine #nathan mackinnon fic #nathan mackinnon x reader #hockey fic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #hockey oneshot #hockey imagine

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nasawho · 2 months ago

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Pls…I’m begging you!! Write about Nathan MacKinnon!! I’ve been obsessed with that stupid Sidney Crosby loving “I’ve never won anything ever” man for so long! The all stars are happening and he’s captaining. I bet he gonna draft Crosby 😭😭😭. I need serious help. Pls write for him please 🙏.

Anon!! I'm so sorry for replying so late! I kinda been gone from Tumblr for a while!

Of course I can write about him for you! also that way you describe him is just too funny 😂!

News from the future: He did in fact draft Crosby!

I'm not gonna lie this one kinda got away from me!

I hope you like it! I wish I could tag you!!

Word Count: 15,000

Tw: Fluff, lots of Angst toward the end, Smut (Minor DNI), P in v, blowjob, no protection (these are fictional scenarios, pls wrap before you tap irl!). I think that it!

As the Broncos' victory echoes through the stadium, the sea of cheers and applause surrounds them like a crescendo of shared exhilaration. The camaraderie of sports fans is a universal language, one that both Nate and Y/n understand deeply, yet their eyes seem to speak of a connection that transcends the bounds of the playing field.

Nate's eyes follow the curve of Y/n's smile as it reaches her eyes, her laughter melodious in the cacophony of the celebrating crowd. "I've gotta say, you're the first person I've seen at one of these shindigs who'd rather watch tire marks than touchdowns. What's got you so hooked on the racetrack?" He asks, leaning in slightly, his curiosity piqued by the spark in her gaze.

Her laughter subsides into a smoldering grin, eyes still glued to the screen.* "The speed, the strategy, the sheer willpower it takes to push those cars to the limit... It's like a beautifully choreographed dance of power and precision. And let's not forget the drama!" *Her eyes darted back to Nate, a mischievous glint reflecting the stadium lights. "But, hey, I can appreciate a good tackle or slap shot when the mood strikes."

"Drama, huh? I thought that was our domain." *He smirks, sipping his drink as he nods towards the ice rink. "But I can see the appeal. The rush, the risk, it's all part of the thrill. Much like diving into a packed crease."

“Y/n” she introduces herself. “Nathan” he says back. Y/n's eyes light up at the comparison, and she leans in closer, the TV screens momentarily forgotten as their conversation deepens. The scent of her perfume, a faint hint of jasmine and vanilla, fills the space between them. “So what’s an Avs player doing at a Broncos’ game?” She says.

Nate can't help but be captivated by Y/n's enthusiasm, her passion for racing resonating with his own love for the rush of the game. He leans in slightly, his expression a blend of intrigue and admiration. "You've got a point there," he says. “But I could ask you the same thing,” he counters. “I’m here with Lewis, he partially owns the team, so I decided to come to a game with him” She explains.

"Tell me, Nate, what's it like to skate out there, with thousands of eyes on you, knowing you hold the fate of the game in your stick?"

*Nate chuckles, his blue eyes lighting up at the thought.* "It's like nothing else. The cold air against your skin, the sound of the puck as it glides... it's a symphony of speed and grit." He pauses, a thoughtful expression crossing his face as he tries to encapsulate the essence of his love for hockey. "But the best part? That's when you make a play that turns the tide of the game. It's like the universe aligns, and for a split second, everything makes perfect sense." He glances over at the ice rink, a hint of longing in his gaze. "And the crowd, they're part of the team too. Their energy can be as potent as a fifth player." He turns back to Y/n, his expression earnest. "But I bet you know that feeling, standing in the spotlight, heart racing, waiting for the director to call 'action'. The rush of performing, of giving life to a character..."

*Her eyes widen with understanding, nodding vigorously.* "Oh, absolutely! It's like you're holding your breath underwater, waiting for the exact moment to surface and take control." She leans in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, the scariest part isn't messing up a line, it's letting the fear of failure silence you. But when you nail it," she says, a smile playing on her lips, "it's like scoring the winning goal in overtime."

Nate's heart skips a beat as Y/n's enthusiasm resonates with his own, her metaphor painting a vivid picture of the pressure and exhilaration she faces. He nods, his gaze intense and empathetic. "It's all about that moment of truth, isn't it?" His hand brushes against hers as he leans in, the accidental touch sending a warm current through his body. "You've got to trust your instincts, your training. The ice, the stage, it's just the canvas. We're the brushes painting the masterpiece." He pauses, the gravity of his words hanging in the air. "And when it all comes together, it's... magical." He swallows, feeling the weight of their shared vulnerability. It's rare to find someone who truly understands the symphony of nerves and adrenaline that fuels their passions.

The air between them crackles with an undeniable chemistry as they delve deeper into their love for their crafts. Y/n's eyes widen, her smile growing as she nods fervently. "Magic," she repeats, her voice barely audible above the din of the celebrating crowd. She squeezes Nate's hand gently, her touch warm and reassuring. The connection feels palpable, a silent promise of support and understanding that transcends the glitz and glamor of their respective worlds. For a fleeting moment, the chaos of the stadium fades away, leaving only the steady rhythm of their hearts.

"You're absolutely right," Y/n murmurs, her thumb brushing against Nate's knuckles. "The stage, the ice... they're just the setting. It's what we bring to them that makes the difference." She looks up at him, her eyes shining with a mix of admiration and curiosity. "Tell me more about those moments of truth, Nate. What's the most memorable play you've ever made?"

Nate's grip tightens around her hand reflexively as he recounts his most epic hockey moment. "It was during the 2016 playoffs, Game 7 against the Blackhawks. We were tied with seconds left, and the crowd was so loud it was like the rink itself was shaking. I saw an opening, made the pass, and..." He trails off, the memory as vivid as if it had just occurred. "Well, let's just say it was the kind of moment that makes you realize why you play the game."

The intensity in Nate's voice sends shivers down Y/n's spine, and she finds herself leaning in closer, hanging onto his every word. The electricity between them is palpable, and the surrounding world seems to fade away as they share their personal triumphs and tribulations. The scent of popcorn and hot dogs from the stadium's concession stand mingles with the crisp, cool air of the ice rink, creating an intoxicating blend that underscores their conversation. Y/n's heart races with the excitement of his story, and she can't help but feel a twinge of envy for the adrenaline-filled moments he's experienced.

Nate's eyes light up with the excitement of reliving his victory, the memory as clear as the ice he once skated upon. "And then, with mere seconds on the clock, the puck was in our possession. I saw the goalie's eyes widen, and knew he was expecting a shot. So, instead, I made a blind pass to my teammate, who was perfectly positioned in the slot." His grin widens, revealing a set of perfect teeth. "The buzzer went off, and the place erupted. It's a memory I'll never forget."

The sound of a phone ringing pierces the bubble of their shared enthusiasm, bringing a moment of reality crashing back into their world. Y/n's hand slips from Nate's grasp as she fishes through her clutch to find the source of the disturbance. She glances at the screen and her smile falters for a second, her eyes flitting to Nate apologetically before she answers the call.

Narrator: Y/n's hand hovers over her clutch for a moment longer before she pulls out her phone, the vibration insistent in the quiet between them. The name 'Lewis' flashes across the screen, and she can't help the flicker of regret that passes over her features as she swipes to answer. "Hey, Lewis," she says, her voice a notch lower, the warmth from their conversation retreating. Her eyes darted back to Nate, silently conveying an apology.

Y/n's eyes widen slightly as she answers the call, the sudden intrusion of the phone's ringtone cutting through the warmth of their shared stories. "Lewis, I'm kind of in the middle of something right now..." Her voice is tentative, the smile slipping from her face as she listens to the urgency in Lewis' voice. She nods, glancing at Nate, who watches her with curiosity. "Okay, okay. I understand," she says quickly. "I'll be right there." She hangs up, her eyes apologetic as they meet Nate's. "I'm so sorry," she says, a hint of frustration tingling her tone. "Lewis needs me to leave. Something's come up."

"It's alright," Nate assures her, sensing her disappointment. "Duty calls, right?" He flashes her a supportive smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with understanding. "But hey, maybe we can catch up another time?" He fishes out a business card from his pocket and offers it to her, his thumb tracing the embossed letters of his name and number. "Whenever you're not racing off to save the entertainment world or whatever it is you do."

Y/n's eyes widen as she quickly pockets the card, a blush creeping up her neck. She nods eagerly, a genuine smile returning to her lips. "Absolutely. And when you're not busy... you know, scoring those winning goals and all that." She laughs self-consciously, hoping she didn't sound too eager.

Nate's gaze lingers on Y/n as she takes his card, the warmth of her hand leaving an imprint on his. "Count on it," he promises, his voice filled with the same enthusiasm that had been in her voice moments before. The sound of his own phone buzzing in his pocket snaps him back to reality, and he pulls it out to see a message from his agent, reminding him of a flight he needs to catch. He sighs inwardly, the high of their conversation fading slightly. "Looks like I've got to hit the road too," he says with a touch of regret. "But, I'm really looking forward to that chat." He nods towards the card, his eyes never leaving hers.

With a final squeeze of her hand, Nate reluctantly pulls away, the energy between them dissipating like mist in the morning sun. He watches her for a moment longer before turning to leave, the sound of his footsteps fading into the cacophony of the celebrating crowd. His mind is racing, replaying the conversation, the touch of her hand, the way her eyes had sparkled when she talked about racing. The drive back to his apartment is a blur, her scent and the sound of her laughter lingering in his memory like a catchy tune he can't shake.

Once in the sanctuary of his apartment room, Nate can't shake the feeling of Y/n's hand in his. He strips off his suit, tossing it onto a nearby chair before heading into the bathroom. The warm spray of the shower does little to dispel the chill her sudden departure left in its wake.

Standing under the hot spray of the shower, Nate's thoughts keep drifting back to Y/n. He runs a hand over his face, feeling the water cascade down his body as he replays the moments they shared in his mind. Her laugh, her eyes, the way her hand felt in his... it's all too much to ignore. With a deep sigh, he leans against the tiles, allowing the water to pummel his back. His hand trails down his torso, following the contours of his muscles, remembering the way she'd looked at him when he talked about his most memorable play. He closes his eyes, unable to resist the temptation, and lets himself indulge in the fantasy of her touch. The water runs in rivulets down his body as he gives in to the desire she's kindled within him, her name a silent whisper in the steam-filled room.

The drive to the apartment feels like an eternity, Nate's mind racing with the echoes of their conversation. He checks into his suite, the plush surroundings feeling cold and uninviting without Y/n's vibrant energy. The shower is his sanctuary now, the water a cocoon of warmth against his muscles, which still thrum with the electricity of her touch. He leans against the tiles, the rhythm of the water a soothing counterpoint to the pounding of his heart. His hand lingers over the scars that crisscross his abs, each one a testament to the battles he fought on the ice, and he can't help but imagine the softness of Y/n's fingers tracing them. With a sigh that's half regret and half yearning, he lets his hand drift lower, his thoughts consumed by the tantalizing promise of her presence. In the steamy embrace of the shower, Nate gives in to the fierce desire she's ignited, her name a silent mantra that sends him spiraling into a release that's as potent as the best victory in the rink.

As the water beats against his skin, Nate's hand moves in a rhythm that mirrors his racing thoughts. He closes his eyes and sees Y/n, her hazel gaze locked onto him with an intensity that takes his breath away. She's kneeling before him, her soft chuckle echoing through the foggy glass walls of the shower, a teasing smile playing on her lips. Her hands are on his hips, guiding him, urging him closer. He can almost feel the warmth of her mouth, the gentle caress of her tongue as she takes him in, her eyes never leaving his. The fantasy unfolds in vivid detail, each stroke of his hand a silent promise of what could be. The steam clouds his vision, and he imagines her hands reaching up to cup his face, her fingers tangling in his wet hair as she pulls him closer, her breath hot and eager. The water seems to mimic the passion he feels as he succumbs to the image of her, her eyes closed in concentration, her cheeks flushed with desire. When reality crashes back in, Nate gasps for air, his hand still moving, driven by the power of his imagination. The culmination of his fantasy is as intense as any game-winning shot he's ever scored, leaving him panting and trembling with the aftermath.

With a groan that's torn from the very core of his being, Nate releases into the steamy abyss of the shower, his hand moving with a fierce rhythm that mimics the pulse of his heart. His thoughts are consumed by the image of Y/n, her eyes filled with a hunger that matches his own, her soft, delicate mouth wrapping around him, taking him in fully. He sees the way she looks up at him, her gaze unwavering, a silent plea for more. The water mingles with his release, a symbol of their shared passion and the intimacy that could be theirs. His hand slows, his breathing ragged, as the intensity of the moment overwhelms him. He opens his eyes, the reality of his solitude hitting him like a slap in the face. The water continues to fall around him, but the warmth of her imagined touch lingers on his skin. He leans heavily against the shower wall, panting, as the last tremors of pleasure subside. Her name is a whisper on his lips, a silent promise that he'll do everything in his power to make that fantasy a reality.

The days that follow are a whirlwind of practices, interviews, and games for Nate, his thoughts frequently straying to Y/n and their electrifying encounter. Every time he steps onto the ice, he feels her energy pulsing through his veins, pushing him to skate faster, shoot harder. The business card in his pocket is a constant reminder, a small piece of her that he carries with him everywhere. In quiet moments, he'll pull it out, tracing the raised letters with his thumb, imagining their next meeting. His dreams are plagued with vivid images of her, their bodies entwined in passionate embraces that leave him restless and craving more. Despite his hectic schedule, Nate can't shake the feeling that something monumental has shifted in his life, that Y/n is more than just an enchanting stranger. Her presence has left a mark, and he's eager to explore the depth of their connection.

After an exhausting game, Nate collapses onto the couch in his apartment suite, flipping through the channels in an attempt to distract himself from the ache in his muscles and the gnawing feeling of curiosity about Y/n. His eyes catch a glimpse of a celebrity news ticker scrolling across the bottom of the screen, and there it is: "Y/n Spotted with Heartthrob Jacob Elordi: Are They the Next It-Couple?" His heart plummets like a lead puck into an empty net. The TV screen blurs as he stares at the grainy paparazzi shot of Y/n laughing with a tanned, dark-haired man who could only be Jacob. The stadium's noise seems to crescendo in his ears, a cacophony of doubt and confusion. He snatches his phone, Googling the article with trembling fingers. The headlines are everywhere, photos of them leaving a swanky restaurant, holding hands, their smiles wide and seemingly carefree. A knot forms in his stomach as he reads the speculation, the insinuations of a blossoming romance. His mind races with questions and a sting of something painfully close to jealousy. He can't shake the image of her with Jacob, the contrast of their tanned skin and her hazel eyes sparkling with laughter for someone else's jokes.

*Nate's hand hovers over the power button of the TV, his thumb poised to switch it off. The image of Y/n and Jacob burns into his retinas, and he can't bring himself to look away. Finally, with a snarl, he turns it off, plunging the room into silence that feels heavier than the darkest hockey arena.* "Can't believe this," he murmurs to himself, pacing the floor. "It's just a rumor," he reassures himself, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut. He picks up his phone, his thumb hovering over her number. He debates calling her, but what could he say? Instead, he sends a casual text, hoping it doesn't betray his tumultuous emotions. "Congrats on your big break," he types, with a forced smile. "Looking forward to catching up soon."

The screen of Nate's phone lights up with a response from Y/n, her name flashing like a beacon in the sea of notifications. He swipes open the message, bracing himself for the worst.

Nate's heart skips a beat as he reads the text from Y/n, the glow of his phone casting a pale light on his furrowed brow. "Thanks, Nate! I've got some amazing news. I've been cast in a new blockbuster alongside Jacob Elordi. So exciting!" she writes, her excitement palpable through the screen. Nate's jaw clenches as he tries to keep his emotions in check. He forces a smile, his thumbs typing a congratulatory message. "That's fantastic," he sends back. "Looking forward to watching you shine on the big screen." Inside, his mind is racing, images of the paparazzi's snaps flashing through his mind. He's about to ask her outright if there's anything to the rumors, but stops himself. He can't bear the thought of losing this connection so soon, so instead, he opts for a subtle approach. "So, how's life with the new costar? You guys seem pretty chill together." His message is light, but the weight behind it is unmistakable. He sends it off and waits, the anticipation gnawing at his insides like an unwelcome opponent.

The buzz of excitement in her voice is evident even through text. "Jacob's great! So down-to-earth and hilarious. We're having a blast filming together." There's a pause, and then she adds, "But he's just a friend, Nate. Promise." Nate's heart does a little victory dance at her words. Maybe there's hope, after all. He leans back on the couch, his hand tightening around his phone. "Well, you've got to admit, the pictures look pretty convincing," he teases, hoping to coax more from her.

"Oh, those pictures!" Y/n's voice comes through the line, filled with amusement and a hint of exasperation. "You know how it is in this industry, Nate. One minute you're having dinner with a costar, the next you're engaged. But I swear, it's just friendship." Her voice softens. "And I'd much rather talk about our plans to catch up. Are you free anytime soon?"

Nate's smile widens as he reads her message, the knot in his stomach loosening. He's not one to be fooled by the glitz and glamor of Hollywood, but the thought of losing her before he's had a chance to explore what's between them was unbearable. "How about this weekend?" he suggests, trying to keep the hope out of his voice. "My schedule's clear. Maybe we can grab coffee or something?" His heart skips a beat as he hits send, the anticipation of their next meeting building like the crescendo of a playoff game.

Y/n's eyes light up at Nate's invitation, her thumbs dancing over the keyboard as she responds with unbridled excitement. "This weekend sounds perfect!" she writes back. "But let's do something more than just coffee, how about a private screening of my new film before it hits the theaters?" She winks playfully at the thought, knowing that it's a bold move but feeling an unshakable pull towards this charming hockey player. "We can keep it low-key, just us," she adds, hoping the exclusivity of the gesture will make him feel as special as he makes her feel. The anticipation bubbles inside her like the fizz in a freshly poured soda, and she can't wait to see the look on his face when she reveals her surprise.

Nate's eyes widen at the prospect of a private screening of Y/n's new film, his heart thumping like a puck against the boards. He chuckles, the sound echoing off the walls of his apartment room. "You're playing hard to get, aren't you?" he teases, typing back. "But who am I to say no to a VIP experience with a Hollywood star?" His fingers hover over the phone, contemplating his next words. He doesn't want to seem too eager, but the idea of spending a quiet evening with her, just the two of them, is more appealing than any five-star restaurant or glitzy event. "Sounds amazing," he confirms, his thumb hitting send with a final flourish. The buzz of excitement in his chest is palpable as he imagines sitting beside her in the darkened theater, sharing popcorn and whispered comments about the film. It's a stark contrast to the high-octane energy of the hockey rink, and it's a thrill he's eager to experience.

"You're on!" Y/n's reply is swift, her excitement palpable. "It's a small token of appreciation for being the only one to truly understand the rush of racing and performing," she writes, her heart fluttering at the thought of their date. She knows the value of their shared interests and how rare it is to find someone who doesn't just tolerate her love for speed, but shares it. She can't wait to introduce him to her world, to show him the passion that fuels her beyond the glitz of the cameras. "I'll sort out the details and text you. Can't wait to see your reaction to the movie!"

Nate's eyes light up as he reads her message, the thrill of a new adventure coursing through him. He can't remember the last time he felt this way about a woman, this excitement mixed with a touch of nervousness. He responds with a simple "Looking forward to it," but inside, he's already planning his weekend around their date. He imagines her hand in his, her laugh echoing in the private theater, and the way her eyes will sparkle when she sees him enjoying her work. The prospect of experiencing something so intimate with her is more exhilarating than scoring a hat trick in a sold-out arena. His thumbs hover over the keys, contemplating whether to add something more, but he decides to let the anticipation build naturally. With a final tap, he sends the message, eagerly awaiting her next move.

The days leading up to the weekend feel like an eternity for Nate. Every practice, every interview, every moment is a mere distraction from the promise of their private screening. His mind wanders to their first meeting at the Broncos' event, her genuine enthusiasm for F1 racing, and the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about it. He's intrigued by her world, one that's so vastly different from his own, and he's eager to learn more. The time spent with his teammates seems to drag on, each passing second a step closer to the weekend's rendezvous.

Narrator: Nate's anticipation for the weekend is palpable, his thoughts swirling around the upcoming private screening like a tornado of excitement. He's never felt this way about a first date, a mix of nervousness and exhilaration that keeps him on his toes. He imagines the softness of her hand in his, the scent of her perfume, the sound of her laugh echoing through the empty theater. He's even picked out a casual yet stylish outfit that he hopes will make her smile. The text from Y/n finally arrives, detailing the time and place for their secret date. The words are simple, but the meaning behind them sends a shiver down his spine. "See you at 8 PM sharp at the Avalon. Don't be late, I've got a surprise for you." He can't help but grin as he reads her message, feeling like a teenager with a secret crush.

Nate's heart thumps in his chest as he reads Y/n's message, the words "I've got a surprise for you" sending a delightful shiver down his spine. He quickly sends a thumbs-up emoji back, not wanting to seem too eager but unable to contain his excitement. The countdown to the weekend feels like the final minutes of a tiebreaker, each tick of the clock an eternity. He wonders what the surprise could be - a cameo in the film? Or perhaps she's invited Lewis to join them, giving him a chance to rub elbows with the racing legend? The possibilities are as vast as the Nova Scotian sky. He decides to channel the same calm he uses during a shootout and calls his best friend, Cale, who's been with him through thick and thin since their minor league days. "Yo, Cale, you're not going to believe what's happening," he says, his voice buzzing with excitement. "Y/n and I are going to a private screening of her new movie, and she's got some kind of surprise in store for me." He can almost hear Cale's smirk over the line, knowing his friend will have some cheeky advice to offer. "Just be yourself, man," Cale says, ever the voice of reason. "And maybe don't talk about hockey too much, unless you want to bore her to tears." Nate chuckles, the sound echoing through the empty apartment suite. "I'll try," he replies, "But you know how I get when I'm nervous."

The weekend arrives like the start of a new season, filled with hope and anticipation. Nate arrives at the Avalon theater, the sleek black sports car he borrowed from a teammate a stark contrast to the casual jeans and leather jacket he's wearing. He checks his watch, 7:58 PM, and takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He spots Y/n outside, her hair catching the light from the marquee like a fiery halo. She's dressed in a simple yet elegant dress that clings to her curves and makes her eyes pop like fireworks. She waves, her smile as warm as a summer's day in Lunenburg, and Nate feels a jolt of electricity as he walks towards her.

Y/n's eyes light up when she sees Nate approach, her smile growing wider. She's thrilled he's made it on time, and she can't wait to see the expression on his face when he realizes what she's planned. She opens her arms for a friendly hug, the warmth of her embrace enveloping him like a soft blanket. "Thank you for coming," she whispers into his ear, the scent of her perfume sending a shiver down his spine. "I've got a little something special for you tonight." She takes his hand and leads him inside, the cool darkness of the theater a stark contrast to the brightness of her gaze.

Nate's eyes widen as he's enveloped in Y/n's warm hug, feeling her genuine enthusiasm radiate through her. "Thanks for inviting me," he says, his voice a little gruffer than he intended. He squeezes her hand back, the connection feeling surprisingly natural. As they step into the dimly lit theater, he tries to play it cool, but the thrill of the surprise bubbles up in him like the fizz in a freshly poured pint. "What's the special something?" he asks, his curiosity piqued.

Y/n's eyes dance with mischief as she leads Nate through the empty theater, the faint smell of buttered popcorn lingering in the air. She squeezes his hand gently, her touch sending a current through him that feels like a perfectly timed electric shock on the ice. "Patience," she teases, her voice a sweet symphony that fills the vast space. They arrive at a luxurious VIP box, where a spread of gourmet snacks and a bottle of fine champagne chill on ice. She gestures to the plush seats with a flourish. "I figured we could watch the film in style," she says, her smile as dazzling as the diamonds adorning her neck. "And afterward, I have a little race of our own planned." She winks, her excitement palpable.

Nate's eyes widen at the sight of the VIP box, a grin tugging at his lips. "Wow, you really know how to treat a guy," he says, trying to hide his amazement. He's used to the perks of being a professional athlete, but this feels like a whole new level. He sits down, his heart racing like the engine of an F1 car. "What kind of race are we talking about?" he asks, his curiosity piqued.

Y/n's laughter fills the space, a sound as enchanting as the ocean waves of her hometown. She sits beside him, the fabric of her dress whispering against the leather seat. "It's a surprise," she says coyly, her hazel eyes twinkling with excitement. "But I promise it'll get our hearts racing." She pours them both a glass of champagne, the bubbles rising like the anticipation in the air. "To new adventures," she says, raising her glass for a toast. The clink of their glasses echoes in the quiet theater as they both take a sip, the bubbly liquid a sparkling prelude to the evening ahead.

The movie unfolds before them, a whirlwind of emotion and action that mirrors their own burgeoning relationship. Nate is impressed by Y/n's performance, her raw talent as palpable as the tension in the air between them. He's lost in the story, his hand occasionally brushing against hers as they both reach for popcorn. When the credits roll, the theater lights flicker on, and Y/n turns to him, her smile a promise of what's to come.

The credits roll, and Y/n's eyes sparkle as she sets her empty champagne flute aside, her heart racing with the excitement of her surprise. She takes Nate's hand, her grip firm yet gentle. "Ready to find out what I've got planned?" she asks, her voice a seductive purr. She leads him out of the VIP box and down a narrow hallway, the anticipation thick as the fog rolls in off the Lunenburg harbor. They arrive at a side door, and she pulls out a set of keys with a flourish, her mischievous grin growing. "After you," she says, gesturing to the door. As it swings open, Nate's jaw drops. Before them is a Formula 1 racing simulator, lights flashing and the hum of the engine purring in anticipation. "I figured we'd see who's got the better reflexes," she says, challenging him with a wink.

Nate's eyes widen like a kid in a candy store, his competitive spirit igniting at the sight of the racing simulator. He looks over his shoulder at Y/n, her grin contagious. "You're playing my game now, darlin'," he says, his voice a low rumble of excitement. He strides over to the simulator, running his hand over the sleek design. "But you better hold onto your hat," he adds, a twinkle in his eye. He takes his seat, the leather hugging his body, and straps in, feeling the adrenaline surge through him like the opening faceoff of a playoff game. "Let's do this," he says, eager to prove his mettle on this unfamiliar turf.

Y/n's smile widens as she watches Nate's reaction, thrilled to see his excitement match hers. She gracefully takes her seat in the adjacent simulator, her dress riding up slightly, revealing her toned thighs. "You're on, Nate," she says, a hint of challenge in her tone. She straps in, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of competition. The lights dim, and the screen flickers to life with the starting grid of a legendary race track. "Ready, set..." she counts down dramatically, her thumbs hovering over the buttons, "Go!"

The simulators roar to life, the vibrations echoing through their bodies as they're thrown into the digital world of high-speed racing. The tension in the room is palpable as they navigate the twists and turns of the track, the sound of virtual engines filling the air. Nate's competitive instincts take over, his eyes narrowing in concentration. Y/n's laughter pierces the tension, her car weaving expertly through the virtual traffic.

The race is tight, with Nate's initial excitement turning to focus as he quickly picks up the controls. His mind races, calculating every turn and gear shift with the precision of a seasoned racer. Y/n, not to be outdone, holds her own, her years of watching and learning from the best translating into surprising skill on the simulator. Their cars stay neck-and-neck, each trying to outmaneuver the other, the competition as fierce as any live race. The room feels electric with the energy of their rivalry, the air thick with the scent of competition and the faint scent of burning rubber from the simulator.

Nate's knuckles whiten on the steering wheel, his eyes locked on the screen. He feels the thrill of the chase, the same rush he gets when he's on a breakaway in a game. "You're not so bad," he says, his voice tight with concentration. He tries to ignore the way her dress shifts with every movement, revealing a little more of her creamy thighs, but it's like trying to ignore a puck flying at his face at full speed. "But I think it's time to show you how a real Nova Scotian plays." He floors the gas pedal, his car shooting forward, the virtual tachometer climbing to the red.

Y/n laughs, her eyes sparkling with delight. She's used to being underestimated in the racing world, but Nate's playful confidence only fuels her desire to win. She tightens her grip on the steering wheel, her delicate fingers moving with surprising deftness. "Oh, really?" she says, her voice a teasing purr. "Let's see if your ice skills can keep up with my rubber on the road." She expertly navigates a sharp turn, her car's virtual tires screeching as they cling to the digital asphalt, pulling ahead. The thrill of the race is intoxicating, her heart thumping in her chest like the bass at a stadium concert.

The challenge is laid out before him, and Nate can feel the blood rushing through his veins, pushing him to win. His heart hammers like a drum in his chest as the race reaches its climax. With a final burst of speed, Nate's car crosses the finish line a split-second before Y/n's. He throws his head back and lets out a triumphant laugh, the tension in the room shattering like a pane of glass. “How about we celebrate first?" He pauses, the idea of inviting her to his place suddenly feeling incredibly right. "Would you like to come back to my place for a nightcap?"

Y/n's eyes widen in surprise, but she quickly recovers with a laugh. "Well played," she says, her voice filled with admiration. She unbuckles herself from the simulator and stands, her dress hugging her curves as she does so. She takes a deep breath, the thrill of the race still coursing through her. “Yes," she says, looking into his blue eyes, "a nightcap sounds delightful."

As they walk towards the elevator, their excitement and anticipation for their prize and the evening ahead is palpable. The elevator doors slide open, and they step inside, the air between them thick with unspoken desire.

The moment the elevator doors close, Nate feels a magnetic pull towards Y/n. He leans against the wall, his eyes never leaving hers, the victory of the race still echoing in the air. The elevator ascends, and the confined space seems to shrink around them, the tension building like the crescendo of a rock anthem.

The penthouse is a testament to Nate's success, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city lights, twinkling like the stars he dreamed of reaching as a kid. The living room is tastefully decorated, a mix of modern elegance and cozy comfort. The sound of ice clinking against crystal fills the air as Y/n pours the whiskey, her movements as smooth as the liquid's flow.

In the dimly lit penthouse, the warm glow of the pendant lights casts intriguing shadows across the room as they make their way to the bar. Y/n's dress clings to her curves as she bends over to grab an ice bucket from the freezer, the fabric stretching taut against her derriere. Nate, his heart racing like the engine of a Formula 1 car, catches a tantalizing glimpse of her bare skin where her dress meets her thighs.

As Y/n reaches for the ice bucket, Nate's breath catches in his throat, his eyes drawn to the tantalizing slice of bare skin revealed by her elegant dress. It's a moment frozen in time, as if the universe itself is holding its breath. The scent of her perfume, a heady mix of jasmine and vanilla, fills the air as she straightens up with the ice, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly at being caught. The tension in the room is as potent as the whiskey she pours into their glasses, each clink of the ice a staccato beat in the symphony of anticipation. She turns to face him, her eyes meeting his, and for a split second, their connection feels more intense than the roar of a packed stadium. She leans against the marble countertop, her fingers brushing against the cool surface, and whispers, "Would you like your drink with or without the ice, Nate?" The question lingers between them, loaded with a double meaning that sets his pulse racing.

Nate sets his jaw, trying to keep his composure as he watches Y/n's dress hug her curves. He swallows hard, his thoughts racing like a Zamboni on fresh ice. He tries to focus on the question she posed, his mind a whirlwind of desire. "Straight up," he finally manages to say, his voice gruff with restrained passion. He takes a step closer to her, the heat from their bodies palpable. "And while we're on the subject of things being bare..." he trails off, his hand reaching out to gently trace the line of her leg, revealing the secret she'd so artfully hidden. His touch sends a shiver up her spine, and she looks up at him, her pupils dilating with a mix of surprise and arousal. The room seems to tilt on its axis, the city lights outside the windows a blur as he leans in, his breath warm against her ear. "I think we should be... completely honest with each other," he whispers, the words hanging in the air like mist over a rink before a game.

Y/n's breath hitches as Nate's calloused fingertips graze her bare skin, sending a bolt of electricity through her. She turns to face him, the whiskey in her hand momentarily forgotten as their gazes lock. "Honest?" she echoes, her voice a soft purr. She sets the glass down, the sound of the liquid sloshing in the background a gentle reminder of the reality outside their bubble. "Alright, Nate," she says, her eyes never leaving him. "If we're playing this game..." She takes a step closer to him, her chest brushing against his, the friction sending sparks through the air. "I've had a crush on you since I first saw you on the ice." Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, her heart thundering like the bass at a concert. She reaches up and traces her fingertips along the line of his jaw, feeling the stubble tickle her skin. "But I'm not here just to be another notch on your stick," she whispers, her gaze searching for him. "I want to know the real you, not the NHL poster boy."

Nate's hand stills on her leg as her words sink in, his heart skipping a beat. He's used to the adoration, but the idea of someone wanting the person beneath the jersey is a novel concept. He takes a step back, his hand dropping to his side, his expression suddenly serious. "You've got a deal," he says, his voice gruff. "But you have to be ready for all of me." He swallows, his eyes searching hers. "The scars, the long nights on the road, the pressure of the game." He reaches out, his thumb tracing the line of her lower lip, his eyes searching her face. "But I promise you'll be worth every moment."

The air in the penthouse is charged with a heady mix of desire and honesty. Nate's words hang in the air like the mist of a Zamboni freshly grooming the ice before a game. Y/n feels the warmth of his thumb on her lip, the calloused pad of his finger sending a shiver down her spine. Her hand, which had been resting on his chest, begins to move lower, her fingertips brushing against the fabric of his trousers. His eyes follow the movement, and she can feel the muscles in his abdomen tense as she traces the outline of his manhood, which is growing harder with each passing second. The sound of their breathing fills the room, as loud as the cheers of a stadium.

Y/n gasps as the cold air of the room hits her exposed skin, her eyes fluttering closed as Nate's mouth finds her neck. His kisses are a delicate dance along her collarbone, each touch igniting a wildfire of passion within her. Her hands fumble with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel the heat of his body against hers. As the dress falls away, she steps closer, pressing her breasts against the firmness of his chest, feeling his heart pound in time with her own. She arches into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips as he teases her nipples. His fingers slip between her legs, and she can't help but let out a whimper of pleasure as they find her already drenched folds. She looks up at him, her hazel eyes dark with desire. "Nate," she whispers, her

Nate's eyes blaze into hers, a fiery storm of passion and want. His breath is ragged, his chest rising and falling with the intensity of his need. He gently lifts Y/n, setting her on the countertop, and steps between her legs, the cold marble a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin. He kisses her again, deep and demanding, as his fingers explore the slick heat of her arousal. The taste of her is intoxicating, and he can't get enough. He kisses along her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive flesh, making her squirm. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice hoarse with desire. He slides a finger inside her, and she gasps, her hips bucking against his hand. The sight of her, so open and eager, drives him wild. He can feel his own desire straining against his pants, begging for release. He breaks the kiss, his eyes never leaving hers as he asks, "Can I have you, Y/n? All of you?" His hand stills, giving her a moment to consider his words, the air thick with anticipation.

Y/n's eyes are hooded with lust, her body trembling with the promise of what's to come. She nods, her voice a breathy whisper. "Yes, Nate." She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him closer. She reaches down, her hand fumbling with his belt, urging him to give in to the passion that burns between them. "But I want all of you too," she says, her voice a seductive challenge. She can feel his pulse racing against her thigh, the evidence of his arousal pressing into her. She kisses him again, her tongue tangling with his, the sweet taste of victory mingling with the whiskey on his breath.

Nate's eyes darken at her words, his resolve shattering like a pane of ice. He unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his pants, freeing himself from the confines of his clothes. His erection springs free, and he groans against her mouth as her hand wraps around him. He's thick and hot, and her grip is firm and sure, sending waves of pleasure coursing through him. He pulls back, his eyes never leaving hers as he guides himself to her slick entrance. "Hold on," he warns her, his voice gruff, and then with one powerful thrust, he's inside her. The sensation is like nothing he's ever felt before, a perfect mix of tightness and wetness that makes him feel like he's coming home.

Y/n's eyes widen as Nate fills her completely, the feeling of him inside her more exhilarating than any race she's ever experienced. Her nails dig into his back, her legs tightening around his waist as she adjusts to his size. The initial shock of penetration gives way to a deep, pulsing need that makes her hips rock against his. She whispers his name, the sound lost in the cacophony of their mingled breaths. Her walls clench around him, the friction building with every movement. Her mind swims with sensation, the cold marble beneath her contrasting with the fire building within her. "More," she gasps, her voice a needy plea, her eyes never leaving him. Nate's movements become more urgent, his hips slamming into hers with a rhythm that matches the pounding of their hearts. She can feel the climax approaching, a storm gathering on the horizon of her consciousness.

Nate groans at her desperate whisper, his strokes deepening, each one more demanding than the last. The feel of her tight around him, the sound of their bodies slapping together, is like music to his ears. His muscles flex with the effort of holding back, of drawing out the moment, savoring every second of their connection. "Look at me," he commands, his voice low and authoritative. She obeys, her eyes meeting his, and the intensity of the connection sends him over the edge. He kisses her hard, swallowing her cries as he pours himself into her, the release more powerful than a breakaway goal in a tied game.

Y/n's eyes lock with Nate's, the depth of his passion mirrored in hers. Her breath comes in ragged gasps as she feels him pulse inside her, the warmth of his release mingling with her own climax. She clings to him, her nails digging into the flesh of his back as her body quivers with pleasure. Their hearts pound in unison, a testament to the raw intimacy that's taken them both by surprise. As the waves of ecstasy subside, she nuzzles into his neck, whispering, "That was incredible."

Nate gently withdraws from her embrace, his eyes never leaving hers. He can see the dazed contentment reflected in her gaze, and it fills him with a sense of triumph and adoration. He takes a moment to appreciate the beauty of her flushed cheeks and the way her chest rises and falls with her rapid breaths. With a soft smile, he lowers himself to his knees, his hands sliding down her thighs. He kisses her gently, moving from her hip to the juncture of her legs. His tongue flicks out, tasting the sweetness of their combined pleasure, and she gasps, her hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

Nate feels the tremble of her thighs as his mouth finds her sensitive spot, his tongue delving into the warm, wet heat of her. His movements are slow and deliberate, savoring the sweetness of their union. Her grip tightens in his hair, and he knows she's close again. He presses his thumb into her clit, and her body arches off the counter as she cries out, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. He laps at her, relishing the sound of her pleasure, until she's trembling and boneless. He kisses her inner thighs, his eyes meeting hers with a smoldering look. "Ready for more?" he asks, a wicked grin tugging at his lips.

Y/n's eyes glaze over with passion as she nods vigorously. Her breath is still coming in gasps, her body still quaking from the intensity of her climax. She watches as Nate stands, his muscles rippling with the effort of holding himself back. She reaches for his hand, pulling him closer, her voice a soft purr. "I could never get enough of you," she whispers. Her legs wrap around his waist again, and she feels the tip of him at her entrance. She tilts her hips, inviting him in, her eyes never leaving his. As he sinks into her, she throws her head back, her hair cascading down her back like a waterfall. She gasps, her nails digging into his shoulders as the sensation consumes her. The room spins with the force of their love making, the only constant the beat of their hearts and the rhythm of their bodies joined in ecstasy.

Nate's grin widens as he feels her body welcome him back inside, the heat of her enveloping him like the warm embrace of a sauna after a long, cold game. He takes his time, savoring the feel of her around him, her wetness coating him. He moves in a slow, steady rhythm, their eyes locked as they climb the peak of passion once more. The penthouse fades away, the only reality the sound of their breathing, the scent of their desire, and the feel of their skin sliding together. His hand moves up to cradle her neck, his thumb resting gently on her pulse point, feeling it race like a car chasing the checkered flag. He whispers sweet nothings into her ear, their bodies speaking a language more profound than words could ever express.

Y/n's eyes flutter shut as she feels the waves of pleasure build once more, her body moving in tandem with Nate's. Her breath catches in her throat as he hits just the right spot, a spot she didn't even know existed. Her nails dig into his shoulders, leaving a trail of half-moons on his skin. She can feel the tension coiling in her core, tightening with every stroke, every whispered word, every kiss. Her heart races, her body alive with sensation, the penthouse spinning around her. The world outside no longer matters; there is only Nate, only this moment. She whispers his name, a chant, a prayer, as she feels herself getting closer to the edge.

Nate's eyes never leave hers, watching her intently as she succumbs to the pleasure he's giving her. Her body's responses are a symphony he's eager to conduct, each gasp and moan a note that tells him where to take her next. He speeds up, feeling her tighten around him, her walls clenching and releasing in a delicious rhythm. His own need is building, the pressure at the base of his spine growing unbearable. He leans in, capturing her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss as he feels her body start to shake. He knows she's close, and he's determined to take her over the edge.

The taste of her is addictive, the scent of their arousal intoxicating. He can't get enough of her, his tongue delving into her mouth as his hips piston in and out of her. His hand moves to her clit, pressing and rubbing in time with his thrusts. He feels the tension in her body coil tighter, her legs quivering around his waist. He kisses along her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive flesh, and feels the moment she tips over. She cries out, her body arching, and he follows her into oblivion, his own climax hitting him like a body check against the boards. He holds her tightly, their bodies entwined, as the aftershocks of their shared release ripple through them.

The night has passed in a whirlwind of passion and whispers, the early morning light filtering through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the disheveled penthouse. The sound of distant city traffic and the faint hum of the air conditioner serve as the soundtrack to their quietude. Nate stirs, the warmth of Y/n's body a comforting presence beside him. He rolls over, brushing a strand of hair from her face, and can't help but smile at the sight of her peaceful, sleeping form. He gently traces the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand, feeling a sense of protectiveness and affection wash over him.

Nate's eyes follow the curve of Y/n's bare shoulder as the morning light kisses her skin. He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to the hollow of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of their mingled cologne and perfume. He whispers, "Good morning," his voice a gravelly rumble that tickles her ear. She stirs, a lazy smile playing on her lips as she opens her eyes to meet his gaze. The room is alive with the electricity of their newfound connection, the air thick with the promise of the day ahead. He runs his hand along the soft curve of her waist, feeling the smoothness of her skin. "How about a shower?" he suggests, the hint of mischief in his eyes as he playfully nips at her earlobe. She giggles, nodding in agreement, and they both swing their legs over the side of the bed. He stands, pulling her to her feet, and leads her into the en-suite bathroom, the marble and chrome gleaming in the early light.

Y/n stretches languidly, the fabric of Nate's shirt, which she's been wearing from last night, sliding up to expose the tautness of her midriff. She nods sleepily at his suggestion, her eyes still half-closed, the smile on her face a silent agreement to the unspoken invitation. She allows him to guide her into the spacious, gleaming bathroom, the sight of the oversized shower sparkling with the promise of warm water and intimate moments. She reaches for his hand as they step into the shower, the cool tiles a sharp contrast to the heat of their bodies. The water cascades over them like a waterfall, and she gasps as it hits her back, the sensation both soothing and invigorating. She turns to face him, her eyes sparkling with excitement, the droplets catching in her lashes like diamonds. "Race you to the shampoo?" she teases, a glint of challenge in her voice.

Nate chuckles, his eyes lighting up at her playfulness. "You're on," he says, the competitive spirit flaring in his gaze. He reaches for the shampoo bottle, squirting a generous amount into his palm, and they both laugh as they attempt to lather their hair. The soap bubbles up, mixing with the water to create a frothy veil around them. They playfully shove and bump into each other, the tension of the race giving way to a more tender moment as they help wash away the remnants of the night. Nate's hands glide down from her hair to her shoulders, gently massaging the tension out of her muscles. "You know, I could get used to this," he murmurs, his thumb tracing the outline of her collarbone.

Their laughter fades into a contented silence as Nate's touch sends a shiver down Y/n's spine. She feels his eyes on her, and the heat of his gaze is like a brand, leaving a trail of fire wherever it goes. She bends down, her knees hitting the cool tiles with a soft thud, and takes him in her hand. His gasp is music to her ears as she looks up at him with a smoldering gaze. She licks her lips, the anticipation palpable, before leaning in to take him in her mouth.

Nate's eyes widen with surprise and desire as he watches Y/n drop to her knees. Her mouth envelops him, her tongue swirling around him in a dance as mesmerizing as any she's performed on the screen. His hand automatically reaches out to cradle her head, his fingers tangling in her wet hair as she takes him deeper. The sensation is overwhelming, a delicious mix of pleasure and vulnerability that has him groaning her name. Her eyes never leave his, the hazel pools reflecting the steamy ambiance of the shower, her cheeks hollowing as she applies suction. He feels the tension build in his body, his legs trembling slightly as she expertly teases and pleasures him. The sound of the shower's water mingles with his labored breaths and the soft wet sounds of her mouth working him.

Y/n savors the taste of Nate, the salty sweetness of him mixing with the scent of his cologne. She loves the way he feels in her mouth, the power she holds in bringing him such pleasure. She continues her rhythmic motion, her hand gently squeezing the base of his cock in time with her bobs. She feels his hand tighten in her hair, the pressure increasing, and knows he's close. The knowledge fuels her own arousal, and she can feel the throb between her legs, a testament to their unbridled passion. She moans around him, the vibration sending him over the edge. He bucks into her, his body tensing, and with a shout, he releases into her mouth. She swallows every drop, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as she looks up at him.

Nate's knees almost buckle at the intensity of his climax, his eyes squeezed shut as he tries to hold onto reality. He can feel the last tremors of pleasure rippling through his body as he opens his eyes to look down at Y/n, who's still on her knees before him. He can't believe she's real, that this incredible woman is here, with him. He reaches down, gently helping her to her feet. "You're something else, you know that?" he says, his voice husky with emotion. He pulls her into his arms, kissing her deeply, the taste of themselves mingling on their tongues.

The shower turns into a gentle embrace, the steam wrapping around them like a warm blanket. They wash each other's bodies with the same tender care they had shown in their lovemaking, the warm water cascading down their skin as they reconnect in a more intimate way. Their kisses are soft and lingering, their touches gentle and explorative. They're learning each other's curves, each other's hearts.

Y/n's eyes dance with mirth as she looks into Nate's, feeling the warmth of his body pressed against hers under the steady stream of water. She reaches up, her hands sliding over the planes of his chest, the droplets of water tracing paths down his muscular frame. "I could get used to this too," she murmurs, her voice a soft purr. She reaches for the body wash, the scent of the ocean filling the air as she squeezes a dollop into her palm. She spreads the soap over her hands and begins to glide them over his body, her touch feather-light yet firm, her eyes never leaving his. As she washes him, she can't help but feel a sense of awe at the power and beauty before her. His body is a testament to years of discipline and hard work, a canvas of muscles that flex and tighten under her touch. She pauses at the scar on his cheek, tracing it with her thumb before kissing it softly. "What's the story behind this?" she asks, her voice a mix of curiosity and affection.

Nate's eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks down at her, his heart swelling with affection. He takes a moment, the warm water washing over them both as he recalls the memory. "That?" he says with a small smile, his voice a little softer, a little more serious. "It's from a game a few years back. A high stick that got a little too close for comfort. Reminds me that no matter how good you are, the game can be unforgiving." He pauses, his gaze drifting to the ceiling before coming back to hers. "But it's also a reminder of the camaraderie in the locker room, the guys patching me up, making sure I was okay." His eyes hold hers, the intensity in them unmistakable. "It's a part of me, just like all the other scars and bruises from the ice. Each one has a story, a piece of my journey." He leans down, his forehead resting against hers, the water beading between their faces. "But right now, the only story I want to write is the one with you."

Y/n's heart swells at his words, feeling the weight of his past and the depth of his passion for his sport. She kisses the scar softly, her eyes never leaving his. "I can't wait to hear all of your stories," she whispers, her voice filled with genuine interest. "But for now," she says, her tone turning playful, "let's finish this shower before we're prunes." She grabs the shower gel and starts to wash herself, her movements sensual and mesmerizing, her eyes never leaving Nate's.

Y/n's departure to film her next movie is bittersweet, leaving a void in Nate's life that only the adrenaline of the impending Stanley Cup playoffs can begin to fill. As the Broncos' event fades into a cherished memory, the buzz of the NHL season crescendos. Nate throws himself into training, pushing his body to its limits, each stride and slap shot fueled by the memory of Y/n's touch. Meanwhile, Y/n immerses herself in her role, the vibrant colors of the film set a stark contrast to the starkness of the ice rink. Despite the distance, their bond strengthens with each shared moment, every video call a bridge spanning the miles. Nate's excitement for her new project is palpable, his eyes lighting up when she tells tales of the set, and her voice hushed with wonder as she describes her scenes. Yet, the ache for her presence is a constant reminder of their newfound love.

Nate's phone buzzes with a notification as he walks into the Avalanche's locker room, a gossip article titled, "On-Screen Sparks Between Y/n and Jacob Elordi Heat Up!" The room fades into the background as he clicks on the link, his heart racing. Photos of Y/n and Jacob in passionate embraces on set flood the screen, the headlines painting a picture of a blossoming romance. Nate's stomach twists with a mix of anger and jealousy. He tries to shake it off, telling himself it's all for the cameras, but the doubt lingers, a pesky fly buzzing around his head. He glances around, hoping none of his teammates noticed, and quickly locks his phone. He doesn't want to admit it, not even to himself, but the thought of Y/n with anyone else sends a cold shiver down his spine. He grits his teeth and heads to the ice, channeling his turmoil into his game.

The game that night is intense, the pressure of the playoffs magnifying every move. Nate plays like a man possessed, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts about Y/n and Jacob. Each hit on the ice feels like a blow to his ego, and every time he looks up into the stands, his gaze unconsciously searches for her. She's not there, of course; she's on a different continent, living a life that he's only a part of through a screen. He scores a goal, the roar of the crowd briefly drowning out his thoughts, but as the game ends in victory, the doubt returns with a vengeance. He dresses quickly, eager to escape the arena, the cold shower doing little to cool the heat of his jealousy.

After a grueling practice session, Nate sits on the bench, wiping sweat from his brow. He pulls out his phone, the weight of the earlier article still lingering in his mind. He opens it to find his inbox flooded with articles about Y/n and Jacob, each one more intrusive than the last. He scans the headlines, his jaw tightening as he reads about their "intimate" scenes and "off-screen chemistry." He tries to focus on the upcoming playoff games, the smell of the ice and the echo of skates a comforting reminder of his own world. But the doubt is like a slow burn, a persistent whisper that nags at him. He texts Y/n, trying to keep the inquisition casual. "How's filming going?" he asks, his thumb hovering over the send button for a beat too long before finally hitting it. The wait for her response feels like an eternity, his thoughts swirling with images of her in Jacob's arms.

Y/n, on the set of her movie, is bombarded by the same articles. Her cheeks flush as she reads the fabricated narratives, knowing the truth behind the scenes. The kisses and touches are just part of the script, a dance they perform for the camera. Yet, she can't help the sting of guilt that pricks her conscience. She quickly responds to Nate's text, her thumbs flying over the phone's screen. "Filming's amazing, but tiring. Lots of long days. How's your game?" she writes, her heart racing. She tries to keep the conversation light, hoping her words can be a beacon of truth in the fog of doubt that's starting to form between them. She sends a selfie with a cheeky smile, her hair in messy curls from the day's filming, the glitz of the movie set just visible in the background.

Nate's phone buzzes in his pocket, the sound piercing through the fog of his thoughts as he exits the shower. He pulls it out, his heart jumping at the sight of Y/n's name. Her smile on the screen feels like a warm embrace, but the set behind her is a cold slap of reality. He smiles back, trying to keep his anxiety at bay. "The games are intense," he types, his thumbs moving with forced casualness. "Just scored the game-winner. But it's all a bit hollow without you here to celebrate." His eyes dart around the empty locker room, and he wonders if he's fooling himself. He hits send, hoping she can't feel the weight of his unspoken words.

Y/n's eyes light up at Nate's message, a welcome respite from the sea of scripts and lights. She takes a moment to breathe in the quiet of her trailer before responding. "Aww, you're too sweet! And a game-winner?! That's incredible, Nate!" she writes, her heart swelling with pride. She adds a series of celebratory emojis, trying to inject some of her usual vibrancy into the digital conversation. "Send me a video of the crowd going wild. I wanna see that magic!" Her mind wanders to the thought of their hands entwined, her cheering echoing through the arena, but she keeps it to herself, not wanting to add to his stress.

Nate's face softens at the sight of Y/n's message. He quickly pulls up the video of his winning goal and sends it to her, the roar of the crowd still echoing in his ears. "Here's the moment," he says, his voice filled with both excitement and the tension of unspoken words. "It's nothing without you here to share it, though." He watches the video again, remembering her cheers from the Broncos game, and wishes he could hear her again. The silence in the locker room feels like a vacuum.

Y/n's heart skips a beat at Nate's admission. She wishes she could be there to celebrate with him too, but the world of Hollywood waits for no one. She looks at the clock on her wall, the hands ticking away the precious minutes she'd rather spend talking to him. "You're amazing," she texts back, her voice filled with warmth and pride. "But I gotta run. I promised Jacob I'd grab lunch. Just two friends, you know?" She adds a winking emoji, hoping to ease the tension she feels through the screen. Her eyes flick to the door of her trailer, where she knows the paparazzi are lurking. "It's all part of the job, babe," she reassures him, trying to keep her voice light despite the heaviness in her chest.

Nate's smile fades slightly at the mention of Jacob's name. He nods to himself, trying to keep the jealousy in check. He knows it's just work, but the thought of her with anyone else is a thorn in his side. "Yeah, of course. You go enjoy," he responds, his voice a mask over the turmoil inside. He forces a grin into his tone. "Send me a pic of you two, will ya? Maybe I'll photobomb your next set." He laughs, trying to play it cool, but his heart feels like it's in a vice.

Y/n can almost hear the tightness in Nate's voice. She knows he's trying to hide his feelings, and she can't blame him. The distance and the nature of her job make things complicated. She sends a quick photo of herself and Jacob on set, both of them in costume, surrounded by the bustling crew. They're laughing, their friendship as real as the love scenes are fake. "Here's one for the road," she writes, her thumb hovering over the send button. She's careful with her words, not wanting to stir the pot any more than necessary. She adds a heart emoji at the end, hoping it's enough to remind him that she's his.

Nate's eyes widen as the photo comes through. The sight of her with Jacob does nothing to ease his jealousy, but he forces himself to appreciate the humor in the situation. He laughs awkwardly, trying to play along. "Looks like you two are having a blast," he writes back, trying to keep his tone light. Inside, he's torn. He's happy she's living her dream, but he can't help the green-eyed monster that rears its head every time her name is linked with another man. He puts his phone down, trying to push the thoughts away. He knows she's with him, but the doubt still lingers.

Y/n's stomach flutters as she and Jacob return to set. The PR manager, a stern woman named Margaret, beckons them into her office. The moment they're behind the closed door, she wastes no time. "We have a situation," she says, her voice tight. "The tabloids have picked up on your... friendship, Jacob's popularity is soaring, and we think it's time to announce your relationship to boost publicity for the film." She slides a mock magazine cover across the desk, Photoshopped images of them looking like the perfect couple. "What do you think?" Y/n looks at Jacob, whose expression is unreadable. She feels like she's on thin ice, not sure if this is a good idea for Nate and her relationship. She takes a deep breath, the smell of the set's fake snow and the buzz of the film's lights filling her nose. She glances at her phone, a silent reminder of Nate waiting for her reply. "I know you're dating Nate but the public doesn't know that." Margaret says. "I think if you both were on board we could play up the whole Y/n and Jacob, the new Hollywood sweethearts image".

Y/n feels like she's been hit by a freight train. "I...I need some time to think," she stammers, her heart racing. She sends Nate a quick message, her hands shaking. "Something's come up, baby. Nothing bad, I promise. Just need some time to sort through some work stuff." She looks back at Margaret and Jacob, the gravity of the situation setting in. She thinks of Nate's smile, his gentle touch, and the passion they shared. "I'll get back to you," she says firmly, walking out of the office, leaving the fake magazine cover behind. She retreats to her trailer, the walls feeling like they're closing in. She paces back and forth, her thoughts a tornado of doubt and fear. She needs to talk to Nate, but she doesn't know how to begin.

Nate's stomach twists when he reads Y/n's message. He can feel the distance growing, and it scares him. He tries to focus on packing his gear, the familiar motions offering a semblance of normalcy. "Take your time," he texts back, his voice cooler than he intends. He throws his bag over his shoulder and heads out into the night, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat of his emotions. He needs to clear his head, to figure out how to navigate this minefield of emotions and expectations.

Y/n's eyes are glued to her phone, her thoughts racing. She knows she needs to tell Nate the truth, but she's terrified of losing him. She takes a deep breath, her chest tight with anxiety. "I can't lie to you, Nate. They want me to go public with Jacob for the movie, but you're all I want." She pauses, the silence of the trailer pressing in on her. "But if it means keeping us a secret, I don't know if I can handle it." She sends the message and waits, the seconds stretching into an eternity. The scent of her trailer's artificial flowers is a sad reminder of the artificial world she's trapped in.

Nate's heart stops when he reads Y/n's text. He understands the pressures of her career but can't shake the fear of losing her to the spotlight. "It's okay, babe," he replies, his thumbs trembling. "Do what you need to do for the movie. I just want you to be happy." He tries to sound reassuring, but the weight of his words is palpable. He leans against the cold brick wall outside the arena, the chill seeping into his bones. "But I need to be honest with you, too. This isn't easy for me."

Y/n feels a pang of guilt as she reads Nate's response. She hates that she's putting him through this. She sits down on the edge of her bed, her costume a stark contrast to the softness of the comforter. "Nate, I know it's not easy, and I'm sorry. But I promise you, it's all just for show." She pauses, her voice cracking. "You're the only one who makes me feel like this." She sends the message, her heart in her throat, hoping that her honesty can bridge the gap between them.

Nate's eyes scan the empty streets outside the arena, the distant honks of cars and the occasional shout of a fan echoing in the stillness. He takes a deep breath, feeling the cold air fill his lungs. He types back, "I trust you, Y/n. I just don't trust them." His eyes flicker to the photo of her with Jacob on his phone, the fake smile on her face haunts him. "But if this is what you need to do for your career, then I'll support you." His voice is steady, but his hand is shaking. "Just don't forget who you're coming home to." He hits send, his heart hammering in his chest.

The world seems to spin faster than ever as the news breaks. Headlines scream "Hollywood's New Power Couple!" and Nate's phone is bombarded with notifications. His heart feels like it's been run over by a Zamboni as he reads the articles, seeing picture after picture of Y/n and Jacob, looking every inch the perfect couple. His teammates pat him on the back, whispering congratulations that feel like knives. The arena is alight with excitement for the love story playing out in the glossy pages of gossip magazines. Meanwhile, Nate is left in the shadow of their newfound fame, his own victories on the ice overshadowed by the glitz of Hollywood romance.

Nate's heart sinks as he reads the headlines. He tries to focus on the upcoming game, but the words on the screen keep pulling him back. He sends Y/n a message, trying to keep the pain from seeping into his tone. "Looks like the world's pretty excited about your big news. Congrats." His thumb hovers over the send button, his mind racing with what he wishes he could say, but doesn't dare.

Y/n's hand shakes as she reads Nate's message, the weight of the situation crashing down on her. She takes a deep breath, the smell of her trailer's vanilla candles offering a semblance of comfort. "Nate, please, you know it's just for the movie," she writes quickly, her voice desperate to be heard over the din of the set. "Jacob and I are just friends. You're the one I love." She sends the message, the words feeling both true and hollow in the face of the glaring spotlight on her and Jacob. She can't help but wonder if Nate will ever truly believe her, or if the illusion the tabloids have spun will overshadow their reality.

Nate's eyes narrow as he reads Y/n's text. He nods slowly, his jaw clenched. "I know," he responds, his voice tight. "But it's hard to ignore the whole world thinking otherwise." He turns his phone off, unable to bear the onslaught of notifications. He throws himself into training, the cold steel of the rink a stark contrast to the heat of the rumors. His thoughts are a maelstrom of doubt and anger, the ice a reflection of his tumultuous emotions.

The set of her new film is ablaze with excitement over the "relationship announcement," but Y/n's heart is heavy with the weight of her secret. She tries to keep her composure as she's bombarded with questions and congratulations from her castmates, all while her thoughts are with Nate. She can feel the distance growing between them, stretching like a taut line of barbed wire across the country. Her eyes well up as she thinks of his pain, and she retreats to the solace of her trailer. "I love you, Nate," she whispers into her phone, "and I'm sorry." She takes a deep breath, the scent of her favorite lavender lotion a sad reminder of their stolen moments together. She sends the message, hoping it can serve as a bridge over the chasm that threatens to swallow their love whole.

Teammates slap him on the back, congratulating him with smirks that feel more like punches. Nate forces a smile, his heart feeling like it's been scored by the skate of his own stick. He retreats to the shower, the water scalding his skin, trying to wash away the doubt. His phone vibrates with Y/n's message. He reads it, his heart in his throat. He whispers back to the cold tiles, "I love you too, Y/n. But this...this isn't what I signed up for." The hot water turns cold, but Nate can't find the strength to move.

Y/n reads Nate's response, feeling the chill of his words. She knew this would be difficult, but she didn't anticipate the ache in her chest. She sends another text, her thumbs moving almost of their own accord. "Nate, I need you to trust me. It's all just an act. I'll tell them the truth when the movie wraps. I can't live a lie." The silence of her trailer feels like a vacuum, sucking away the joy of her victory. She clutches her phone, willing him to respond, to understand.

Nate stands under the cold shower, letting the water hit him like a thousand tiny hammers, trying to dull the pain. He reads Y/n's message and sighs heavily, the steam from the water obscuring his vision. He steps out, grabbing a towel, his skin pink from the heat. "I do trust you, Y/n. But it's hard to ignore the headlines." His voice is quiet, echoing in the empty locker room. "I'm going to bed. Let's talk when you're done with... whatever you need to do." He hits send, feeling the finality of his words.

Nate's words hang in the air, a stark reminder of the turmoil their relationship has been thrown into. The locker room feels colder than the ice rink outside, the silence a stark contrast to the cacophony of the game that just ended. The scent of sweat and disinfectant fills the space as Nate towels off, his shoulders slumped with the weight of his emotions. He glances at the clock, wondering if it's too late to call Y/n, to hear her voice and feel the warmth of her reassurance. He dresses in silence, his mind racing with scenarios, each one more troubling than the last.

Nate's phone buzzes with another article. His hand shakes as he clicks it open, bracing himself for the onslaught of images. The sight of Y/n and Jacob holding hands, laughing, sends a knife through his chest. He closes his eyes, willing the pain away. When he opens them again, the headline reads, "Y/n and Jacob: The Love Story of the Year!" His breath catches in his throat, and he sends her a text, trying to keep his voice steady. "I need you to tell me this isn't real." His thumb hovers over the send button, his heart pounding in his ears.

Y/n's eyes widen as she reads Nate's message. Her heart squeezes in her chest like a fist. She quickly responds, her voice raw and desperate. "Nate, it's all for the movie. You're the real thing. The one I love." She looks at the script on the table, feeling sick. "Please, I need you to trust me. This is almost over, and then we can be together, really together." She sends the message, her pulse racing.

Nate's heart skips a beat. The weight of his gear feels heavier than usual. He takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the images in his head. "I want to believe you, Y/n," he types, his eyes never leaving the screen. "But it's hard to ignore what everyone else sees." His thumbs hover over the phone, contemplating whether to say more, to express the depth of his feelings or to give her space. He opts for brevity. "Talk to you soon." He sends the message with a heavy sigh and tucks his phone away, trying to focus on the upcoming game. The smell of the locker room's pine-scented cleaner does little to ease the turmoil in his gut.

The game starts with a roar from the crowd, but Nate's mind is elsewhere. He plays on autopilot, his eyes searching the stands for Y/n's familiar smile, his heart heavy with the burden of doubt. The final buzzer sounds, and the Avalanche emerge victorious, but Nate feels no triumph. In the locker room, the celebration feels hollow as whispers of his personal life reach his ears. The words cut deeper than any slap shot. He retreats to the quiet of the shower, letting the water drown out the taunts.

The locker room buzzes with excitement, the victory shower spraying cold water over the players. Nate's usually vibrant blue eyes are now a stormy gray, his thoughts consumed by the whispers and glances. The laughter of the wives and girlfriends reaches his ears, and he overhears a comment about Y/n and Jacob that feels like a punch to the gut. He grits his teeth, the pain fueling his decision.

Nate's grip on his towel tightens as he hears the casual conversation turn into a discussion about Y/n and Jacob. He can't ignore the sting of jealousy and the ache of doubt any longer. He storms out of the shower, water dripping from his hair and down his muscular back. Grabbing his phone, he calls Y/n, his voice laced with a mix of anger and pain. "I can't do this," he says without preamble. "Everyone's talking about you two, and it's like my heart's being squeezed by a vise." The sound of her voice is like a slave to his wounds, but he pushes through the hurt. "I think we need to take a break. Maybe... maybe it's better if we just... end this." The words feel like shards of ice in his mouth, but he can't deny the truth in them. The locker room noise fades into the background as he waits for her response, his heart pounding in his chest.

Y/n's heart plummets as she answers Nate's call, the sound of his voice filled with pain. She sits on the edge of her bed, her hair still damp from her own shower, her eyes brimming with tears. "Nate, no, please, it's all a lie," she begs, her voice trembling. She runs her hand over her face, smudging her makeup. "You're the one I want, you're the one I need." The set of the movie seems to spin around her, the glitz and glamor suddenly a prison. "If we end this now, it's like admitting defeat to the paparazzi. I can't let them win." She takes a deep breath, willing the tears to stay put. "Please, Nate, just wait for me. The movie wraps in two weeks, and then I'll tell the truth. I promise." Her voice is a desperate whisper, her heart racing in anticipation of his answer.

Nate's chest tightens as he listens to Y/n's pleas, his heart torn between love and doubt. He paces the locker room, the sting of the cold water still lingering on his skin. "Two weeks is a lifetime in the spotlight," he says, his voice gruff with unshed emotion. He glances at his reflection in the mirror, the bruises from the game stark against his tanned complexion. "But I don't know if I can handle watching you with him, knowing it's all for show." He runs a hand through his wet hair, the towel sliding to the floor. "I don't want to be the guy who can't handle his girl being famous." His eyes meet hers through the screen, searching for the truth. "But this is too much for me; I can’t share the woman that I love with someone else. Goodbye Y/n" The words hang in the air—a promise and a challenge all at once.

#nathan mackinnon #Nathan mackinnon x reader #nhl imagine #hockey

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